


As It Should Be

by AvianInk



Series: Brucenat Week '19 [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Bruce Feels, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Natasha Romanov Feels, POV Third Person Omniscient, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vignette, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 07:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18846634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvianInk/pseuds/AvianInk
Summary: Vignette in the mountain snow with Bruce and Natasha. Written for Brucenat Week 2019. (1/7)





	As It Should Be

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa...I actually wrote something short.
> 
> Posting these on AO3 and Fanfiction in response to the interest expressed on Tumblr. Thank you for a wonderful Brucenat Week, thank you for reading, thank you for the interest, the kudos, the comments. Thank you, lovely people.

There was a perfectly good couch in front of the fireplace, and they didn’t care. As far as they were concerned, it made for a great backrest. They sprawled across the blanket stretched across the floor. The space they occupied once belonged to a coffee table, which Natasha moved the day they got to the cabin. She’d determined there would be nothing between them and the warmth—their reprieve from the mountain cold. And there wasn’t. After a day out among the snowy peaks, they’d situated themselves amongst a small arc of cushions. Bruce had a bowl of roasted nuts, Nat a mug of tea, and they settled into each other as they basked in the contained blaze before them.

For a while—some span of time time untraceable without a phone or clock nearby—silence punctuated with crackles and ember spits encompassed them. It wafted and swirled around like smoke from an outdoor bonfire. The solace each derived from ritual solitude could be fulfilled just like that: in each other’s quiet company.

Without impetus—simply because he could—Bruce let himself think aloud, “I never had this growing up. I’ve never had it all, actually.”

She didn’t ask for clarification, for whether he meant evenings in front of a fireplace with loved ones or the comfort they’d forged. Her asking would be repetitive anyway, for she already knew what he intended. She felt it too.

So, instead of questioning, she said, “Me either.” She set her mug on the blanket and took one of his hands. The lacing of their fingers was like a zipper coming together. “I wouldn’t change anything about this.”

He pressed lightly into her, his head nuzzling into her crown of red hair. It was a gentle formation, a physical tethering between their minds and the memories, the recovery trails, the feelings they shared. It was just another way for them to resonate within each other.

He murmured, “Me either.”

She brought their joined hands to her mouth and pressed her lips to their skin, joined like smoke that drifted up toward the sky.


End file.
